Rivers and Roads
by Pied Piper
Summary: In which a group of friends (and a few strangers) all fall for the wrong people. [AU]


**Rivers and Roads**

* * *

In which a group of friends (and a few strangers) all fall for the wrong people. [AU]

* * *

_Nothin' is as it has been _

_And I miss your face like hell._

_And I guess it's just as well_

_But I miss your face like hell._

"Rivers and Roads" (The Head and the Heart)

* * *

I am a bit of a workaholic. It's something I've done since I was a kid, according to my parents. If I ever had a challenge or task—one I'd given myself, mind you; we're not talking chores or homework here—I'd give everything I had to finish it, to meet the goal, to rise above everyone else who'd ever tried it before. This attitude no doubt accounts for my overconfidence and stubbornness, but I've learned that hard work wins you a lot more success than luck and fate. You want something, you work, and you get it in the end.

Currently, my goal is to be promoted from Deputy Counsel to Chief Counsel for Governor Ishida Hiroaki. I've been working for the Governor since he first started campaigning; his sons had been my classmates at grade school. I know it seems like a disadvantage to have a prior connection to him since before I was employed by his office, and that stereotype is what I've been working so hard to overturn. It also doesn't help that he routinely comments on my being like his third son, cuffing me about the neck and ruffling my hair when he's feeling especially proud. I suspect he does this because he knows how much I care about any reputation I might get around the office. Like I said, he's a father figure. A really annoying father figure.

But Governor Ishida is still technically my boss's boss. The current Chief Counsel is likely the most frightening man I've ever meet. A really terrifying father figure, though I'd never be stupid enough to refer to him as a father aloud around earshot. He has a very strict personnel policy at work, running the most efficient and professional objective team of speechwriters, lawyers, counselors, and advisers our prefecture has seen in too long of a time. Governor Ishida owes him his election, and we all know it. I just want to get on his good side at least once. You see, I'm not worried about looking like I was handed this job to the general public—well, not most days and not usually—I'm most worried that my boss doesn't take me seriously because he doesn't think I've earned my right to be here.

Let me be clear, I did earn this. I went to a top university, studying politics, got a graduate degree in communications before entering law school, and worked on several campaigns along the way. I even clerked for one of the nation's top judges for one summer. That was when I'd met Governor Ishida again, who offered me a job to join his campaign, in the middle of asking me about my nephews and telling me to pass along greetings to my mother for him. I know I have earned my right to be here, but I do owe him for giving me the chance to prove it. I never want to let him down. And now, the only person really keeping me in constant check of my credentials and authority is a very scary man.

So that morning at four-forty-five, when my phone rings and I see through a groggy, confused haze that it's the same aforementioned very scary man, I immediately sit straight up and put on my serious voice. "Good morning, sir."

"Go to the office, get the briefings for the joint commission and the draft press release, get in a cab and come to North Hospital, be here in twenty minutes."

And then he hangs up.

I sit on my bed for a minute, staring at the wall with the phone still pressed to my ear, processing what just happened. The hospital? I quickly scroll through the messages—no news. Why would he be at the hospital at five in the morning?

"What's going on?" asks my girlfriend who stirs awake beside me. She glances at the clock on the bedside table and groans, "Come back to bed, Tai."

"I have to go into work," I say, quickly slipping into a new shirt and pants.

She moves to balance herself on her elbows, staring at me in disbelief. "You're joking. Your sister is coming today, remember? We have the whole day planned and you said you had a light morning—,"

I just shake my head. "Something came up. He wants me to come in."

"This is ridiculous."

"I work in government, Sora. I have to be ready to—,"

"Don't. Just go."

"Sora."

"Go," she snaps, turning her back towards me in a huff and burying herself under the covers.

I hesitate, then lean over the bed to kiss her covered shoulder. "I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?"

She doesn't answer, eyes probably closed tight to block me out the way she does when she's upset. I make a mental note to message her an apology a few hours later when she's cooled off and head out the door to the apartment elevator. The doorman isn't surprised to see me so early. "Good morning, Mr Yagami."

"There's never anything good about it," I respond, grumbling as I fix my tie in the elevator mirror.

"Never say never, Mr Yagami."

I dash across the street to a cab, writing a few quick emails to my assistant and the departmental secretary on the way. I arrive at the office, grab the papers he'd asked for and assemble them quickly into a more organized file. I also print a new copy of the office schedule, jotting notes for the planned meetings in case they need to be moved or cleared completely, and leave a message with the Governor's Deputy Director of Communications to get back to me as soon as he gets in. I know Daisuke will respond within the hour; he's probably as married to the job as me, though he's never dated a girl long enough for her to be bothered by the long hours. I frown and think back to Sora. I have to make this up her.

By the time I arrive at the hospital, stopping on the way to pick up two coffees, it's been twenty-two minutes. I go straight to the desk and ask for my boss, but the nurse won't give me any information as I'm not family. I angrily grab for my phone, beginning to call him back, when someone takes the coffee from my hands and I stop in surprise.

The woman has shoulder length, curled brown hair with wide hazel eyes. She's thin but at slightly less than average height, making her appear even smaller, with narrow hips and dainty wrists. Everything about her looks fragile and precious, like one small push could crumple her like paper. Then she opens her mouth to speak, flashing a wide and confident smile, already gulping from one of the coffees. "Oh my God, thank you so much for these, I really needed one."

"Who the hell—?"

"It's okay, he is family," she tells the nurse with another charming smile, and then motions at me to follow her through the corridor.

"Wait a minute—,"

"You are basically family, you know. My father talks about you all the time. Well, not so much talking as complaining, but with my father, the two are one sometimes, don't you think?" She pushes through a set of swinging doors, walking into the patients' corridor. I pick up my pace to keep up with her, looking around in confusion as we sail past doctors and nurses, patients and families alike. "I'm Mimi, by the way. My mother had a bit of a bad fall and broke her arm. The doctors found an irregular heartbeat, so they're keeping her under observation a few days. My dad—your boss, I suppose—wanted you here so he could…telecommute the morning, as it were. You'll be errand boy for the day. Fun, right?"

So this is Tachikawa Mimi. I always forget that she exists. Daisuke mentioned almost meeting her once. Mostly though, my boss kept his family far away from everyone in government, never even having his wife accompany him to events. He kept no pictures in his office, and never spoke of them. It was months before I realized he even had a wife and daughter. Governor Ishida has always maintained it's to protect them from the public's leering eye. Judging from how much this girl talks, I can just as easily imagine it being a PR move.

I manage to interrupt her when she takes another big gulp of coffee. "Where are we going?"

"My dad's in here." She stops outside the door to one of the more elite hospital suites, the kind my family probably would never be able to afford. I peer through the window and see an older woman lying on the hospital bed. Her eyes are closed, but she appears to be sleeping peacefully rather than in pain. Her right arm is wrapped up in a cast and sling, and the rest of her body is covered in thick hospital sheets. On the other side of the room is a table with two chairs, and a sofa along the far wall. My boss is sitting at the table, an open laptop in front of him, eating from a half empty cup of Jell-O. I double take. Jell-O?

Mimi sees me eyeing it and laughs. "Sugar is his weakness. You better remember that."

And with that she pushes open the door and declares in a singsong voice, "I found him in the lobby, Daddy." She kisses him on the check and presents him with the coffee. "I got you some."

"Thank you, sweetheart," he says, and I'm too dumbfounded by this familial side of him to realize she had taken my gesture as hers and gotten away with it. "You're late," he tells me after a sip of the hot drink without looking at me, still staring at the laptop screen. She glances back at me with a small smile, a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, sir." I walk towards him, placed the briefcase of files he'd asked for on the table. He doesn't glance at it. My eyes dart back to the woman sleeping on the bed and I lower my voice. "Do you need me to clear your schedule today, sir?"

Now he looks up. He stares at me with a blank expression. "Why?"

I open my mouth to speak, but I can't say anything.

"Sit down, let's go over the commission."

I glance back at the woman sleeping on the bed, and then at Mimi who's standing beside him, staring back at me expectantly. Their gazes match exactly. They even have the same colored eyes. This family is unnerving.

I take off my jacket and sit down in the extra chair, but Mimi stops me. "That's mine," she says with a sweet smile. My boss says nothing to discourage her, or suggest she should probably excuse herself from our meeting. I gather up my jacket and belongings and move to the sofa as she settles herself in, lounging far more comfortably then I am as I spread my papers out awkwardly on the couch. Mimi leans back in her chair, propping her legs on the table and turning her attention exclusively on her phone, drinking my coffee and tuning out the work around her. I stare at her, in disbelief that she would take my seat and my coffee and do so with that air of entitlement, and then she catches me staring and winks. My face reddens and I immediately look away, swallowing a resentful remark and taking out my small netbook for notes.

"Let's start with the report from the labor secretary."

"Yes, sir."

I should have gotten more coffee.

* * *

My mother tells me I have too much energy. She says I'm restless and inquisitive, but that curiosity will kill me one day, or at least get me into serious legal trouble. So I did the next best thing—I started working for the government. This past fall I was promoted to Deputy Director of Communications, a position I am pretty great at boasting to strangers that I have. I guess that's the one thing I haven't really learned how to manage, my pride. Well, not pride, really. I don't think I'm that arrogant, though I have been told otherwise by many people. I just talk. A lot. Hence, the communications degree and subsequent career.

Graduate school was where I met Yagami Taichi, my best friend and coworker at the office of Governor Ishida. He had been family friends with the Ishidas for years, and that's how he helped get me an in on the campaign and later in the administration once the Governor was elected and entered the office. I started later than Taichi, who in the meantime had gone straight to law school and then returned to politics, while I worked for a private company for a few years before being recruited on the campaign.

I have to say, though, Taichi knew I wasn't happy where I was before I really knew. And I wasn't. I vastly prefer the political life. All the chaos and negotiations, the push and pull for getting what you want and coming out on top, faster and better than the guy you're trying to beat—and there's always someone to beat. It's thrilling for someone as competitive as me, and my mother seems to think it fits my personality niche pretty well.

It also is wonderful for meeting girls.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not an operator. I don't have a playbook and I don't go hunting.

Okay, that's not entirely true.

I have never had problems meeting women and dating them. Taichi says my problem has been keeping them, but to be honest, I'm not in it to keep anyone. With my lifestyle and career, I just don't have the time to invest in a real relationship, and at my age I'm not interested. I tell the girls I meet this right off the bat, as soon as things get heavy. Sometimes it works, and most girls appreciate the honesty. For some reason though, there are the girls who think I'm being coy or hard-to-get, like they're the ones who are going to get me to commit. Naturally, these are the courtships that end pretty terribly, and hence my reputation, according to friends. But I'm honest when I tell you that I don't put up a front and I don't play games with hearts. I don't mean to. Sometimes I guess it bothers me that I come with this kind of warning label, but overall, it's never really bothered me. Like I said, my life just doesn't accommodate for thinking too long on personal issues that only need to more trouble. I'm pretty grateful for that aspect of my job.

My boss, the Director of Communications, seems to think otherwise. She's always trying to set me up with nice, young girls, as she puts it. She has a daughter she won't let me near, funnily enough, but insists it's because I need more grooming first. I've met Miyako, and she's a real attractive girl. A little too smart for my taste though.

See? That's the stuff I say aloud sometimes that makes my boss, and others, scowl and smack me around for. I don't mean it to sound bad. I just speak without thinking sometimes. When I say she's too smart, it means she'll probably call me out on my bullshit sooner than I'd like flings to do, meaning it's not worth it. What other people hear is that I'm just a selfish asshole. That could be the case. If you hear anything enough times, it's probably true.

My speaking out of turn and impatience wouldn't seem like it bodes well for a communications professional, but I'm pretty damn good at turning on the charm and performing when I have to. I have to give due respect to my boss and the other members of the administration. They work so hard it would be disrespectful not to match it. I put in the long hours, too, and I try my best to support the team as a whole. Yet there's probably no one in entire government who works as hard as Taichi.

So at five that morning, when my phone buzzes to herald a new email from the Deputy Counsel who now is apparently heading to work after receiving summons from his boss, I just shake my head in amusement. As hard as Taichi works, he spends far too much of his time at his boss's beck and call. He must realize it at some level, but honestly, I'm not sure. When I first joined the team, I admired Taichi for his confidence and energy; I really thought he was going somewhere, that he had the ambition. I think he still does to a degree, but he'll never get where he should be if he spends all his time under his boss's thumb.

On the other hand, it can't be that great working for his boss. I don't know anyone who doesn't dodge him in the hallways when he passes, or tries to figure out alternative routes to avoid him. He is the kind of ruthless lawyer that can assess and destroy you with one glance. I am pretty sure he can read minds. That's not an exaggeration. I once met a beautiful young woman waiting outside the building, chatting spiritedly on a cell phone, during a lunch break. I approached her as soon as she caught my eye, but just I got within speaking distance, the Chief Counsel appeared on the front steps. We passed each other and he glanced at me dismissively before heading straight to the car. I swear shivers went down my spine, but I never thought of asking Tachikawa Mimi out again.

I turn off my phone and roll out of bed, stretching lazily, getting ready for my morning run. Every other day at six I run eight miles. It's the only time I prefer being by myself. Today, however, halfway through mile seven, I get another message from Taichi. He's back at the office from another meeting earlier that morning—I grimace at the thought of him heading off to one meeting at five and then back in the office to start the real work day at seven; when does the man ever have time for that girlfriend of his? This is why I don't date seriously—and has realized he's forgotten some paperwork at home, and could I bring it in on my way. The request is simple and routine enough. Taichi's apartment block is on my way to work, and I actually run around the neighborhood on my route. In fact, just as I get the notice for his email, I'm running up towards it.

Caught without my key but not willing to make two trips when I'm already this close, I take a break at the apartment and make my way to his floor. I expect Sora is still around, if she was here the night before, and she usually is. They don't live together formally, but it's one of those relationships where you have to wonder why she bothers paying rent on an apartment of her own that she rarely goes to. On the other hand, with a workaholic boyfriend like Taichi, you probably want to be at a place where you are more likely to run into him than not, just to improve your odds. It's a pretty straining way to live, but they've managed to make it work.

I get to his door and ring the bell, jogging in place all the time, pacing up and down the short corridor.

Only, the person who answers isn't Sora.

Despite having been friends and coworkers with Taichi for several years, this is only the fourth time I've his sister. She looks nothing like him. Short with mouse brown hair and dimples, she looks relatively harmless compared to her tall athletic brother with his fixed, determined expression. Surprised to see her, I immediately come to a halt mid-jog, causing me to trip over my shoes and stupidly fall to the ground.

"Oh my goodness!" she gasps, immediately diving for me and hoisting me up by the arm. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, of course, don't worry," I stammer out, embarrassed at such a dumb display of incoordination.

"Wait, I know you," she realized suddenly. "You're…Koushiro, right?"

I stammer again—_Goddammit, Daisuke, get your shit together!_—and shake my head, "Uh, no, sorry. Koushiro works in the staff office. I'm Daisuke. I'm in communications."

"Oh, right! I'm sorry," she smiles, "I don't really follow politics."

"Yeah, don't worry, most people don't."

"Well, I'm glad most people don't have your job, then," she says.

I smile nervously, "Yeah, good….thinking."

We stand there awkwardly while I want to die, until Hikari says, "Did you need something?"

I remember Taichi's email. "Um, yeah! Tai said he left some paperwork behind when he left this morning."

"He did call to say someone was coming to get them," she says, nodding. "Want to come in while I get them? Do you need coffee?"

"Er, no, that's okay, I'll just—I mean if you know where the papers are, then I guess I'll just wait."

"Are you sure?"

"Uh, yeah, very sure," I nod a lot. Then I add, "I'm all sweaty, I don't want to ruin anything in there….you know…with my—my—,"

"Sweat?" she offers tentatively.

I hate myself even more. "Yeah…."

She's grinning, "Okay, I'll be right back."

She leaves the door ajar slightly and I can hear the conversation inside as she tells Sora what's going on. At the mention of Taichi's name, Sora makes an exasperated noise and mumbles something back, to which Hikari offers a reassuring message of some sort. I try to lean in closer to eavesdrop, but suddenly Hikari is back, holding a manila folder and a thermos.

"I already had some in the pot," she said, holding the coffee out to me. "Please take it. It's the least I can give you for doing Taichi's errands."

"Thanks." I accept them both and remain standing awkwardly in the doorway. She hesitatingly waves. I hear Sora calling for her again and she glances back inside the apartment before flashing me an apologetic smile. My God, her smile is beautiful. "Well, bye," I say at last.

She laughs, "Bye, Koushiro."

"It's Daisuke—," I start to correct, but the door's already closed.

I stand in the empty hallway, staring at the closed door, holding the files and the thermos and a few years of built up longing that would sell millions of teenage love stories the world over. Like I said, I've never had trouble meeting and dating women, and I'm always upfront with what I want from one when I do. But Yagami Hikari? Yeah, she's another story.

My story, I hope, I wish. And I really, really, really wish.


End file.
